


Get Your Hands Off My Heart  (and my ass)

by theauthorish



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys Kissing, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 01:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20163571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theauthorish/pseuds/theauthorish
Summary: Damn Kamasaki, Kenji sulks. Damn his great fucking body and refusal to wear the top half of the coveralls because he's allergic to sleeves. Damn heat.





	Get Your Hands Off My Heart  (and my ass)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [michellicopter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellicopter/gifts).

> My only excuse is that chelle drew kamafuta necking and covered in paint and I had to.
> 
> You can see the art here! https://twitter.com/spicysandmich/status/1156452932130398209?s=21

Kenji needs to get out of this heat.

His throat is dry no matter how much he drinks, these overalls are much thicker than they really need to be to catch paint, and also--

Kamasaki is out here right next to him, arms shining with sweat, muscles flexing as he paints and lifts things and--

Kenji reaches blindly for his water bottle and empties it into his mouth.

_ Damn Kamasaki _ , Kenji sulks.  _ Damn his great fucking body and refusal to wear the top half of the coveralls because he's allergic to sleeves. Damn heat. _

They're painting some sort of set for a play, the volleyball club's contribution to the school's cultural festival. Kenji hates just about everything about it, but watching Kamasaki squatting over a wooden board and painting it in smooth strokes…

There could be worse ways to spend a weekend, he guesses.

"Oi! Futakuchi!" Kamasaki (speak of the devil) swats at him-- none-too-lightly either. "You're supposed ta be  _ helping _ ."

"I am!" Kenji protests. He isn't; he's mostly standing around whining and ogling when Kamasaki isn't looking, but the look Kamasaki shoots him (exasperated and fond but trying not to be) is exactly why he says it. "I'm standing here and being pretty."

"That ain't helpin'," Kamasaki points out.

Kenji huffs playfully. "Of course it is." He pauses to flick a lock of hair out of his face. "It's motivating you, isn't it?"

Kamasaki snorts, rolling his eyes. "Yeah right."

"Kamasaki-saaaaaan," Kenji whines, draping himself over Kamasaki, making himself as heavy as possible so Kamasaki grunts under his weight. "It's hoootttt. And not in the fun way." (He  _ wishes _ it were hot in the fun way, but he's not about to go feeding Kamasaki's stupid ego about his equally stupid arms-- he'd hold it over Kenji's head forever. But also, not doing that means he's got to work far harder to get what he wants. At least riling up Kamasaki is something he has plenty of practice in.)

"Then get off me you dumbass! You're heavy, and anyway, don't'cha understand the concept of body heat?" Kamasaki is still trying his damnedest to ignore Kenji and actually get some work done. How sickeningly noble. Kenji's also mildly offended that he isn't distracting enough.

Even more annoying is how he can feel Kamasaki shifting underneath him, all that muscle rippling against him as Kamasaki works, straining only slightly to support Kenji's weight. It's just  _ awful _ . Entirely unfair.

Kenji slumps harder against Kamasaki.

" _ Oi _ !" yelps Kamasaki, as the extra pressure causes a brushstroke to go awry. Thankfully, the whole thing has to be that color anyway. "Get off already!" He shoves, but even while Kenji's busy snickering at Kamasaki's misfortune, he's not so out of it that he'll let Kamasaki shake him off.

"Futakuchi, you damn bastard--"

"But  _ senpaiiiii _ ," Kenji drawls, affecting his best pout. "You aren't paying attention to me!"

Kamasaki sighs heavily as his efforts bear no fruit, and apparently resigns himself to Kenji clinging to him like a leech. Good. "Why the fuck should I?"

"Well obviously," Kenji answers, settling into a more comfortable leaning position-- definitely not because he cares about Kamasaki's back or anything, of course not. "Because I'm your favorite, most adorable kouhai, and I deserve it."

That earns him a snort, which,  _ rude _ \-- even if it's probably a fair response. Kamasaki keeps painting, smooth, even strokes that actually… are kinda soothing to watch. Kenji could watch it all day, really. 

It makes him want to vomit. When did he get so soft?

Kenji had better start annoying Kamasaki some more, before he picks up on it.

"Y'know, the whole point of the overalls is that they're supposed to be  _ over _ your clothes, right? So that you  _ don't  _ get covered in paint?" He reaches around and taps at a splotch of bright blue, right over Kamasaki's collarbone. "Look at this. A perfectly decent white shirt, ruined."

"It's an old shirt anyway," Kamasaki says, waving it off with his free hand. "Besides, it's too fuckin' hot to bother with the top half. I dunno how you aren't bakin' in yours."

Kenji is  _ definitely  _ baking, but he also likes his shirts wearable in public, thank you very much. "Are you such a musclehead you breathe through your arms now, Kamasaki-san?" Kenji prods, instead of admitting to this. "If you pull on your sleeves will you suffocate?"

Kamasaki makes a renewed attempt at shoving Kenji away. Doomed to failure, of course. At least he's finally too distracted to paint. "Oh shut up," Kamasaki's voice has no real venom. There never is any. He's a sap. "Why don't you actually do your work?"

Kenji flutters his lashes. "What's the point when I have a strong, dependable senpai to do it for me?"

"I'm not doin' all the work for you, ya little brat." Kamasaki shoves a paintbrush at him, this one dripping with white meant for a board leaning up against the wall all the way on the other side of the room. The gesture is rough enough that the paint flicks onto his overalls too. This is why Kenji's wearing them properly, he thinks. See, Kamasaki?

"Funny," Kenji says, bracing himself. "That's not what you were telling me last night when--"

As expected, Kamasaki growls, whirling around to slap a hand over Kenji's mouth. That Kenji lets the force of it knock him over onto his back is entirely intentional, of course. Bingo. "Shut up! We're at school, jackass!" He hisses.

Kenji licks his hand, beaming widely at the face Kamasaki makes as he wipes it down on his pants. "Make me," he purrs, smug as anything. Surely Kamasaki knows Kenji isn't stupid-- yeah, he likes people knowing Kamasaki is  _ his _ , but when Kamasaki spoils him silly, renders him pliable and weak and feeling golden like he's never been anything else-- that's  _ his. Theirs. _ Not for anyone else.

Surely Kamasaki knows this. But he's playing along, acting like Kenji needs to be silenced. What a perfect boyfriend.

Kamasaki's eyes narrow, another frustrated sound rumbling in his throat. He looks dangerous. Kenji wants more of it. "You were anglin' for this."

Kenji only smirks wider, posing himself as best he can, tilting his head back a bit to expose the line of his neck and puffing his chest a bit. Kamasaki's eyes wander from his face for a few seconds before he catches himself, scowling fiercer as if that'll fool Kenji. It doesn't.

"Nuh-uh," Kamasaki tells him, shaking his head. "We aren't doing that here. We're supposed ta be workin'." He doesn't get up, which means he's tempted. Kenji can work with tempted. It's what he's best at, after all.

If Kamasaki's gonna call him a devil more often than not, why not live up to the name, right?

"Well we can certainly  _ work _ ." Kenji grins, running his palms up Kamasaki's arms, teasing and light. "Just not on the set."

"No," Kamasaki says flatly. He still doesn't move.

Kenji shrugs. "If you say so." Kenji's hands slide up to Kamasaki's shoulders, down his chest… "Seriously, your poor shirt," he mutters. "Look at all these stains you could have avoided. One, two…" he starts enumerating them, poking at the respective marks as he counts. Okay, fine, he's groping under the guise of pointing out stains, but can he be blamed? No. No he can't.

Kamasaki raises an eyebrow.  _ I know what you're doing _ , he's saying. 

Kenji only blinks innocently.  _ Me? I've never done anything wrong ever. _

Kamasaki rolls his eyes, but his mouth is twitching at the corners, and Kenji has a feeling that he's won. Finally. "You know, if you like them so much, maybe I should give you some to match."

Nevermind. If this is the price of winning, Kenji's  _ not  _ up for paying it.

"What?" Kenji demands. "No--" Kenji tries to scramble out, away, but Kamasaki settles his weight against him, smirking evilly at the prospect of ruining something for once. (This is  _ entirely  _ unfair; ruining stuff is  _ Kenji's _ thing.) Kenji tries to wriggle out, or at least make Kamasaki too uncomfortably… excited… (or whatever) to keep holding him down, but he gets ignored. Instead of minding him, his bastard of a boyfriend reaches for a bucket of paint-- a rich green that's almost the exact shade of their blazers. "Kama--  _ Yasushi _ , I swear to--" 

Kamasaki meets his gaze, and splays his hand across the surface of the paint, coating his palm and fingers in green, green, green. His grin is blindingly bright and Kenji is a little shell-shocked. His other hand, thankfully clean for now, comes up to the zipper of his overalls, and that, at least, snaps Kenji back to his senses. He grabs at Kamasaki's wrist. "Yasushi, I will end you," he says, in all seriousness. "Don't you dare get paint on my clothes."

Kamasaki raises an eyebrow. "You wanted attention, didn't you?"

"Not the kind that ruins my nice shirt!"

"It's literally a plain black shirt. You have loads of them. I've seen your closet." Kamasaki's fingers tug a little, and Kenji feels the zipper give. He tightens his grip.

" _ Yasushi _ ."

Kamasaki dips his head down, still grinning, and his words are warm against the shell of Kenji's ear: "Come on, Kenji," he murmurs. "Lemme have a bit of fun. I'll make it up to you."

Kenji shivers, and yes, this was what he wanted, but--

Kamasaki nips lightly at the lobe of his ear, and Kenji caves with a groan. "Fine," he says, allowing Kamasaki to tug his zipper down. "I can't believe you wanna  _ match _ , what kind of mushy mess have you become?"

"Mushy, am I?" Kamasaki chuckles, pressing down on Kenji's chest, leaving a thick handprint over Kenji's heart, but Kenji's too absorbed by the way Kamasaki is holding him down to care. Kamasaki pushes, kisses him hard enough it feels like a bruise-- a claim and a brand. Kenji's hands fly up to clutch at him, draw him closer. He pulls away only when Kenji's pleasantly dizzy, lungs crying for oxygen, heart pounding a million miles a minute. "But you  _ liiike _ mushy, don't ya Kenji?"

Well, probably. This is what he'd wanted, after all. Exactly what he'd wanted.

Well. Almost. But he'll just bitch about his shirt later.

Kamasaki pushes aside the fabric of the coveralls, fingers stroking color along Kenji's ribs, his navel. His touch is so, so warm-- if there weren't the paint to worry about, Kenji would want them on his skin instead, rough and calloused from spiking and blocking and the handiwork Kamasaki loves so much. 

He keeps kissing Kenji, too, wet and open-mouthed, trailing down his jaw, his throat. 

He sighs, winding his hands in Kamasaki's hair. It surprises him every time, how soft it is, when it looks so coarse from afar. Then again, Kamasaki himself is the same way, so maybe it's to be expected.

"Yasushi," Kenji mumbles, just to hear his name. He likes the taste of it. Like wine. Like summer-ripe cherries. Like smoke against a city sky. 

Kamasaki hums, one hand reaching out to snag a different container of paint. Purple, rich and royal, decadent as the way he says, "Kenji," in answer. He dips two fingers into it, brings them back to streak across Kenji's spine, his sleeve. 

He even dabs a little on Kenji's cheek, eyes crinkling with his amusement when Kenji wrinkles his nose. It stinks. It feels slimy and gross, and washing it off will be a pain. He might get acne.

But when Kamasaki mumbles, "Perfect," like Kenji's some sort of masterpiece, even with his face screwed up and curses on the tip of his tongue (and Kamasaki's known him long enough to know they're there, even if Kenji swallows them down), well… Kenji can't help but shudder.

"You…" Kenji starts, but doesn't finish. Cheater. That's what Kamasaki is. A cheater.

No fair.

Kamasaki is too careful to mark him up today-- they're meant to be working, of course, and Kenji gets noisy when he starts leaving them behind anyway. Poor Moniwa shouldn't have to walk in on this because he overhears and starts worrying, or see evidence it happened while he wasn't looking, even if he probably suspects.

Instead, Kamasaki paints him again and again; white, indigo, fuschia and teal swirl together with gentle hands and rough skin and love like sap, sticky and sweet, like proof that Kenji can be cared for, treasured so thoroughly as the finest art. 

Kenji's shirt is ruined beyond belief, his shower later will take twice as long, and his pride has taken a critical hit.

He doesn't care right now. He's not sure he'll care even later, when this is over.

He doesn't want it to be over at all.

Kamasaki pulls away, hovering over him with a smug smirk. "Quiet, Kenji?" He prods, tracing a thumb down Kenji's chin and all the way to his Adam's apple, leaving a smear of blue in its wake. Kenji's lips part, gasping shaky breaths. There's something so unbearably loving in Kamasaki's eyes; it's simultaneously all Kenji needs and far, far too much.

Kenji tears his gaze away, focuses instead on Kamasaki's arms where they hold him up, straining against his own weight. He feels a little more himself, this way. Less likely to cave in to Kamasaki's every whim, and more ready to poke fun at him and rile him up. "I think I take it back," he murmurs. He tugs gently at the skin of Kamasaki's wrist with his teeth, sucking until he's certain there's a mark. Kamasaki might not be willing to leave any evidence that this was anything more than a paint fight, but Kenji has no such qualms. Besides, the narrow-eyed exasperation Kamasaki fixes him with makes him grin. "I like you better without the sleeves. More eye candy-- if I avoid looking at your face too much."

"Oh please," Kamasaki snorts, dipping back down until Kenji isn't so much hearing his voice as he is tasting it. "You  _ like  _ my face."

"Wow, Yasushi," Kenji titters, "Have you been hallucinating things? When did you get so overconfident?" It's hard to maintain the facade, especially since Kenji can't seem to catch his breath even now, and when Kamasaki shifts his knee where it's settled between Kenji's thighs… Kenji's pretty much a goner, catching his lower lip between his teeth to hold back a whimper.

Kamasaki suddenly hoists him up, and without really knowing how, Kenji finds himself sat in Kamasaki's lap instead of underneath him. He likes this too, but he has to wonder what prompted the position change. "Oh no," Kamasaki insists, before Kenji can even open his mouth to make a jab (something along the lines of Kamasaki's gym obsession being useless if he couldn't even hold himself up for a decent makeout session). "You  _ definitely  _ do." He yanks Kenji's shirt up, and nudges at his mouth with the fabric until he gets the message, opening his mouth so he can bite down on the fabric. 

If he gets paint-poisoning, Kenji will make Kamasaki's life miserable, but he's fairly sure Kamasaki cares about him enough not to let that happen; the section of the shirt actually in his mouth is probably clean. (Okay, fine, he  _ knows  _ Kamasaki loves him. But Kenji will never admit to something that sappy. Ever.)

"You think you're subtle? I see ya starin', Kenji, when you think I'm not looking." Kamasaki ducks his head, flicks his tongue against the center of Kenji's chest. His hands settle on Kenji's hips, broad and big, with just the right amount of weight to them. His thumbs rub gentle circles there, and Kenji will have to scrub away the streaks of paint left behind, but-- 

"Not to mention," Kamasaki continues, shifting his mouth to the side, breathing hot and teasing over one of Kenji's nipples, and Kenji has to fight with himself to keep from squirming, curling his fingers into his overalls lest he do something like  _ give in  _ and reach for Kamasaki. Nope. Not happening. "You  _ love  _ it when I use my mouth on you."

Kamasaki's gaze is heavy, burning. Kenji has to force himself to swallow down the lump in his throat and answer, "That's just your mouth, Yasushi. Why do you think I close my eyes every time? So I don't have to see your ugly mug." It's not quite nonchalant, but it's as close as Kenji's likely to get, with Kamasaki's every exhale unfolding over him like a taunt. He wants,  _ he wants _ \--

"Uh huh." Kamasaki's tone reeks of  _ I-don't-believe-that-for-a-second _ , but he lets it slide, and he finally takes Kenji's nipple between his lips, mouths at it like he couldn't imagine anything better.

Kenji does whine this time, all efforts to stop the sound futile. Even the shirt caught between his teeth doesn't dampen it much. Kenji's eyes flick to the door-- like he expects one of their teammates to come in to check on them for whatever reason-- but it remains shut, the rest of the team still working outdoors to put together the other parts of the set, if the hammering noise or occasional yell for tools means anything. 

"Just admit it already, Kenji. You  _ liiike  _ me."

Kamasaki needs to fucking move to stop teasing right fucking now and really  _ do _ something. Preferably Kenji. "What… gave you that idea?" Kenji releases the shirt to say it, and as soon as the fabric falls over him, Kamasaki pulls back-- it really is  _ hot  _ today, especially inside with the aircon shut off, and the frown on his face is the one that means he's trying to figure out whether Kenji had done what he had in a bid to piss him off, or if it had genuinely been an oversight.

Kenji would normally invest himself in making it appear to be the latter, but right now, he has other concerns. Namely, wrenching Kamasaki up by the chin and into a biting kiss, the kind that feels like a fistfight but tastes like adoration on his tongue. 

"That might be it," Kamasaki pants, the moment Kenji lets him break off for air.

"Shut  _ up _ ," Kenji groans, dragging him back in.

He lost this time, but Kenji's not sure he minds. They can always have a rematch.

/////

In the end, Kenji gets too loud as he always does, and Aone marches in to wrench them apart, glaring at them both balefully. Kamasaki shrinks a little under his junior's gaze, and Kenji laughs at him--

At least until Aone turns on him, and holds up a finger like a warning. It's a funny picture, like a mother counting down for their misbehaving child, but Kenji has no doubt that whatever he's threatening will absolutely damage his reputation irreparably.

He shuts up.

Aone walks out, dragging Kamasaki behind him, and a bit later, sends in Koganegawa in his place. A terrible, terrible vessel of revenge. Kenji has to give him props for it, even as his ears ring from the overly excited chatter two volumes higher than necessary.

Still, when he hears Moniwa launch into a lecture outside, most likely due to the hickey he'd left behind on Kamasaki's wrist, blatant and unmissable-- well, Kenji can't help but snicker, can he?

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr and twitter @theauthorish
> 
> You can also join our kamafuta discord server here: https://discord.gg/sPzZx9N
> 
> Also! We have a kamafuta week in the works, so if you wanna find out about that, follow us on tumblr and twitter @kamafutaweek


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